


Straitjacket

by squishyturtlefuckfics



Series: Kinktober 2019 - Squishyturtlefuckfics [10]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage, Breathplay, Gay, Hand Jobs, Heavy BDSM, Kidnapping, Leather, M/M, Mindfuck, Non-Consensual Bondage, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sensory Deprivation, straitjacket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26363686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squishyturtlefuckfics/pseuds/squishyturtlefuckfics
Summary: Held captive, bound in place, thrust into darkness.How long can Leonardo hold his breath?Day 19 of Kinktober 2019
Series: Kinktober 2019 - Squishyturtlefuckfics [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1504070
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	Straitjacket

**Author's Note:**

> Doing this a bit out of order, I know! I just had an idea for this one that I wanted to get out.

Darkness didn't scare him. He was used to it. The cloak of shadow was his life: the way of the ninja.

But this darkness was perpetual. Suffocating. All consuming.

He’d been here five days until he lost count: until the numbers lost all meaning, until the words in his mind were nothing but a jumbled mess. And all the while the darkness kept growing, festering.

As if on cue, the darkness is shattered by a speck of light. The sound of a door creaking open, then locking shut. Footsteps closing in on him, getting closer and closer by the second. Leonardo stirs, puffing air from his nose. He raises his head, eyes unseeing, toward the source of the noise, his face completely obscured by thick, padded layers of leather, with the only openings for air being a pair of small holes for his nostrils. 

"Still awake?" Rings Tiger Claw's voice, a sneer befitting the cold room. His paw comes down, touch firm and demanding around his scalp. Leo can still feel it through the mask, but just barely.

"Mmf..." The thick plug in his mouth makes it impossible to speak clearly. Leonardo snorts, shaking what little of his body he can, leaning into the touch eagerly, his skin suddenly on fire. His arms have been fastened into a straitjacket, with his legs spread by a bar and clamped down onto the metal chair he'd been strapped to. Every inch of his skin has been sealed up in a thick suit of leather, with thick cuffs cinched around his ankles to hold him in place, and a leather collar wound around his neck. The only part still visible is his cock, and Leonardo can't help but snort once again as Tiger Claw wraps his paw around it. He strokes it slowly, dragging the motion out, never going fast enough to give Leo the pleasure he needs.

The rattle of metal sounds over his voice, over the strained bucking of his hips, but his binds don't give. 

Then Tiger Claw pulls away, but the heat of his skin sticks. A whine leaves Leo’s throat. His cock quivers with need, a milky white substance leaking from the tip.

"I wonder how long you can last," Tiger Claw purrs, suddenly right next to his ear, breath hot against the leather. "You talk of discipline and strength. I hope you won't disappoint me."

Again, the heat of his breath lingers as he pulls away. Leonardo drags in a shallow, shuddering breath through his nose, the tubing connecting his nostrils to the mask thin, letting just enough air in to keep his body functioning and nothing more. There's more rattling, Leonardo shaking in the seat, crying out weakly behind the gag. Tiger Claw's hand doesn't drift away from his face just yet, his thumb drifting up his beak, smoothing over his sealed up mouth and climbing toward his nose. 

With a firm shove, Tiger Claw presses the digit down over the two nose holes, plugging them.

Leonardo seizes up. Movement stops, and the familiar tick of his mind’s clock begins. His thoughts wander from the darkness, barely able to focus on the blurry images rolling through them: on faces and memories he craved to reach out and touch, to the smell of the night air or the taste of his favourite food. Anything to distract him from the ticking clock. The ever fading supply of oxygen.

One minute. Burning. Shivering. Keeping it together.

Two minutes pass. Lungs and brain burning. Heart pounding. He’s trembling. His cock jolts: Tiger Claw slides two fingers up and down the length at an agonising pace.

Three minutes. 

Oxygen deprivation kicks in. The darkness swirls into an abyss. Everything is on fire. His cock aches. He can’t. He can't—  **_He can’t!_ **

The muddled meditation shatters in an instant. Shaking. Squirming. Screaming behind the gag. Shaking his head. The clatter of metal against metal and creak of leather. He had to breathe. He had to  _ breathe _ .

Tiger Claw waits for another full minute before he pulls his thumb off, letting air trickle back through the narrow tubing. Leonardo snorts loudly. His struggles come to a rest, but his body is still shaking, quivering, lungs heaving for air, and Tiger Claw stroking his cock again isn't helping. Just gentle touches, letting it ache and twitch on its own, then dance in response to the friction.

"Four minutes," Tiger Claw muses, leaning over once more. There's a faint pressure on his ear, Tiger Claw pressing his snout right into it as he whispers: "Admirable. But I think we can train you even more, wouldn't you agree?"

Tiger Claw squeezes his cock. Leonardo's heart skips, chest tight, his retort muffled by the gag. Tiger Claw’s free hand hovers over his nose and presses down firmly.

Instant panic. Rocking in his bindings. Moaning. Snorting. Wrestling to get his arms free. The ticking clock echoes through his mind, but the ticks are meaningless now. Time is all but lost to him. His erection weeps into Tiger Claw’s fur, stains it with need, and the blood meant for his brain just pools right into his cock instead.

And then he’s sucking up what little air he can, racing against the clock he can already hear rewinding in his mind, yet despite it all his body sings with need, endorphins flooding his brain and nerves. His skin tingles. His cock twitches and aches. Tiger Claw’s finger hovers over his beak, toying with him. 

“It’s been two weeks, little cub,” Tiger Claw says suddenly, and once again the thumb comes down, smothering him. The words bounce off his mind, not sticking, just falling into the mess of jumbled thoughts and feelings. “No one is coming for you.”

“Mmfff…!” He’s not listening. He can’t even think, but somehow the words still fill his stomach with ice-cold dread. Leonardo rattles his head from side to side, both trying to push the blockage away, and yet lean more into the touch he desperately craved. Like the hand on his cock. The hand that strokes and squeezes, rubs around the tip, sets his nerves ablaze.

Finally, the pressure vanishes, and Leonardo sinks backwards, straining for the air his body needs. There's the sound of a drawer sliding open, shutting and then the padding of feet across wooden flooring. Tiger Claw returns, slips a heavy band over his head and fastens two, heavy headphones to his ears.

Everything stops, and Leonardo's heart sinks as empty static rolls through his mind: dense, endless silence contained within the bulky, noise-cancelling headphones. There's movement: Tiger Claw stroking down his legs, disturbing the air around him as he walks, but he can't hear the creak of leather or the tap of feet to ground. All he can do is whine and buck and squirm and desperately reach for the addicting contact.

And eventually, Tiger Claw drifts away, the last flicker of light fades from the room, and Leonardo is left again in the ever-deepening darkness.  
  



End file.
